Hurting Healing Hoping
by sansone
Summary: AU Kibbs. Set 4-5 years after 'Twilight'. Kate is still alive and she is married to Gibbs - they have a four-year old daughter. It's a long way to recovery after Kate gets shot in the line of duty. Angst/Hurt/Comfort
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people.  
**AN: **I woke up with the idea for this fic and I had to write it out. It's different from what I usually write in that it's AU. I have a couple of ideas for this story, but I'd like to know if you guys are interested in reading :)))

* * *

It's not like in the movies: Gibbs is no Magneto and doors don't fling open on demand. But there is Abby, who opens the door to the ER for him, a gesture he wouldn't have tolerated under any other circumstances. Still, the corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, a token for his gratitude and perhaps, the only visible indicator of his emotional state. He has seen families rush into the hospital, faces stricken with panic and grief, people who barely hold back the tears as they ask a nurse for help. Gibbs is _not _doing this, because that's the only thing he has control over, his response to the situation. And also, he is holding an ever shifting 4-year old in his arms. _God. _Besides, physical expression of emotion is just a setback, a limit to the endless sorrow and worry one could feel. Anxiety is most often internally bound, and tears are just a distraction from the problem at hand. Tears don't fix anything; more so, they can't change what's already happened.

Once inside, Gibbs is thankful for keeping it cool, at least on the outside. It's a complete pandemonium on the ground floor of Bethesda hospital and he finds himself pulling the little girl a tiny bit closer to himself. _There, all better now. _Interns are running around, scared stupid, – and he knows they are interns, such shock is not engraved on a resident's face – doctors are shouting out orders over restless shrieks of pain, and paramedics are wheeling in stretchers with more people. In other words, it's total chaos in the eyes of the beholder, to the shaken outsider, and a well-oiled machine to the parties involved.

The noise draws the attention of his daughter and she shifts ever so slightly in his arms, her warm forehead no longer resting on Gibbs' shoulder. Then, ice blue eyes take in the surroundings, blowing wide open at the sight.

"Don't look, baby," Gibbs' soothing voice is in stark contrast with all the yelling of the medical personnel and the cries of patients. Only Gibbs knows how he's keeping it together. He runs a hand down Em's back, but the girl is stubborn – doesn't matter if the 'stubborn' gene is recessive, considering who her parents are – and doesn't look away; she even tries to wriggle out of his hold. He doesn't let her go. Gibbs notices the way her lower lip sticks out, a sure forecast for tears, but she keeps them at bay, _for now_, tiny arms tightening around her father's neck.

He finally sees it – the information desk, at the opposite end of the hall. A stout brunette clad in light green slacks, most likely a nurse, is talking on the phone, sighing and shaking her head. Gibbs doesn't wait one bit but heads her way with Abby following suit. Even as he is approaching the woman, he knows the right thing to do is to let Abby hold Emory, but he doesn't – the front of his shirt is now damp with the little girl's tears, yet she doesn't let out more than a whimper. He _can't _let her go.

By the time he reaches the station, the nurse is no longer talking on the phone, _thankfully_, and turns to look at him, kind brown eyes instilling nothing but a sense of trust in Gibbs. Things are not okay, they might not be okay again, but having the nurse on his side could make it easier.

"How may I help you, sir?" a questioning look and a sympathetic smile, and Gibbs' voice catches in his throat.

On his behalf, Abby takes the initiative.

"We want to see Agent Todd," she manages with inevitable urgency to her tone.

At the name, Emory pulls back a little to look over her shoulder at the woman, who smiles even wider at her.

"It will be alright, little one," Gibbs whispers in her dark curls, reassuringly, before kissing the top of her head. _It will be alright._

_It was his turn to pick their daughter up from day care. Abby had asked to tag along, without even knowing they were to get ice-cream on the way back. Dinosaur crunch, Em's favorite. That was the tradition: every Friday, rain or shine – except for the winter months, of course – they would get ice-cream and spend some time at the playground across the street from the kindergarten. _

_This time, it was no different. Abby pleaded with him to slow down, all in vain, Emmy ran to meet them from across the yard, and Gibbs spun her around, laughing at the sound of his daughter's giggles, a regular occurrence now. Laughing till his eyes crinkled at the edges, forming lines so deep, not even Tony's voice on the other end of the line could obliterate his smile. _

_"What is it, DiNozzo?" he asked, his voice strangely content, not threatening, a little amused in fact. _

_"Boss –"_

_"DiNozzo?" Gibbs let Emory down, and the little girl immediately tugged at Abby's skirt, forcing her to play a game of tag. _

_The silence spoke a thousand words. "What's wrong, Tony?"_

_"It's Kate, Gibbs. She was shot."_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** The science in this chapter is obviously not 100% accurate, though I did some research. I'm happy you're enjoying the story so far :)

* * *

She remembers her. It's difficult to forget a female federal agent enough as it is (she must be one of few women, working in this male-dominated field), but she was also beautiful. A woman of contrast: beside the obvious, – dark hair and dark eyes set against light skin – her wit overpowered the pain, _to some extent. _Having Kate's image superimposed on thin air before her, makes it even harder for Rose to find the right words. Because not knowing is sometimes better; not knowing means hope. Yet, she has to tell it as it is.

"I'm afraid this will not be possible."

_By late afternoon, she was finally done with the regular 4 o'clock rotation. Colonel Williams had caved in at last, after three days of excruciating post-op pain. Rose had done it; she had administered a small dose of morphine under the Colonel's scrutinizing gaze. A point had once again been proven: everyone had pride, until they didn't. Until being in pain became the common condition, a constant state of hurting that could not be endured. Even major principles tended to be forgotten then._

_After she returned to the lobby, Rose indulged in a moment's rest. It was unusually quiet; interns were wandering around, aimless, yet ready to page in their resident in case of an emergency. Then it happened, like it always did – a domino chain of events, one case tumbling after another, drawing more people in by the minute until the ground floor was crowded. A former marine, complaining of back pain. Hypotensive. A gunnery sergeant. Stab wound to the left thigh, a crime of passion. An NCIS special agent in a stretcher, severe penetrating abdominal trauma. This one caught her attention._

_Next to her was her partner, Rose presumed. He was tall and handsome and worried. Rose would have implicated a further relationship (the two made a good-looking couple), but she overheard their conversation, when the paramedics wheeled her past the nurse._

_"Don't you dare, DiNozzo. I'm fine," the woman insisted with striking intensity, for the state she was in. Rose was struck by her piercing gaze, even though she was the one lying down, bleeding. _

_"You need to step back, sir," a paramedic warned the other agent, who ignored his words completely._

_"Don't call him, Tony. Please –" she called out, quieter this time. But she was playing him – behind the plea was the same fierce glare of someone who wanted to get their way at all costs._

_"I need to, Kate."_

_She did not say a thing; a cough shook her body until she was lying still. The man started dialing a number, and stepped aside. He was slowly coming to terms with an invaluable truth, known across every hospital and detested by all non-medical personnel: it was the doctor, the surgeon's job to take care of her, and it was _his _job to watch from afar, _for once.

* * *

_A quarter of an hour passed in relative quiet. Then –_

_"Come on, Rose. We need all hands on deck for this one," another nurse called out to her and she followed the voice to Trauma One, only to see her again. Kate._

_The fireball of a woman was now reduced to a still, pre-op patient, stripped of her clothing and inspected by gloved hands. Rose hadn't realized it before. But the extent of Kate's injuries was significant and it was showing up on every point of the initial examination. _

_She had already been hooked to a cardiac monitor, the beeping sounds setting the doctors in motion, timing them. _Hurry._ A clear fluid, a bag of saline, was dripping into the central IV line, while an oxygen mask was helping Kate breathe. All the bases were covered._

_As the head trauma surgeon entered the room, everyone looked her way, awaiting instructions. She jumped right into action, pulling a mask over her face and putting on latex gloves. _

_"What do we have?"_

_"Single GSW to the abdomen. She is losing a lot of blood."_

_"Rose, order a bag of O-neg."_

_"Already did," someone shouted out. It was only to be expected: in this room everyone needed to pitch in if they wanted the desired outcome to become a reality._

_Kate opened her eyes; a motion once simple – like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings – but it was hard now, it took immense effort. It was as if fingertips held those wings together, crushing them._

_"Patient's still conscious. She was in good shape when she came in."_

_Dark brown eyes flickered with exhaustion and for a moment it seemed that everyone started working harder, faster, the buzzing of voices multiplied tenfold, reaching a crescendo of medical terms. A set of hands pressed onto her abdomen even tighter._

_"All signs point to peritonitis. There might be additional damage to the internal organs."_

_"Agent said it was a high velocity bullet. There could be fragments."_

_Fragments. Her thoughts were fragments. _Dimming lights. Difficult to see. A sudden blackout is better. Immediate. She'd prefer that. Not this. Too much pain. Can't hold out much longer.

_"She needs a laparotomy. We need to take her to the OR, right now."_

_"BPs dropping, respiratory rate is low – She is slipping into hemorrhage shock."_

_She stopped trying. The pain was no longer piercing, striking her with yet another blow to the abdomen. No, it was just – there. Perhaps that's how it was supposed to be. She'd have to learn to live with –_

_"Start her on midazolam hydrochloride."_

_Warm fingertips pressed against her palm. Kate swore she could hear someone saying it was going to be okay. Before all sensation was lost._

For a moment the sentence lingers in the air, unaccompanied by an explanation, and all color drains from Gibbs' face. His grip around Emory tightens, as if holding on to life could somehow help things, change things. Make that bullet reverse its trajectory –

"She's in surgery right now. It might take hours. You can, you _should _take a seat in the waiting room. I'll let you know immediately if there is any news," Rose soothes, and it's apparent that she cares. No time is lost on senseless questions. _Are you family?_ The panic on his face speaks volumes. Her voice is like a lullaby to the tired little girl, who once again rests her head on her father's shoulder. Gibbs doesn't know if the nurse is like this with everyone, but he is grateful for her attention. An appreciation he channels through the tiny smile he casts her way, before murmuring, "Thank you."

He is not relieved, far from it. But knowing that Kate is still alive is enough, for now. And he is telling her not to die. It worked on DiNozzo once.

* * *

It's been more than two hours and it's driving him crazy. Aware of his growing anxiety, Abby takes his hand, her thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He is out of it, _gone_, and he wishes he could stop thinking; he wishes he had a distraction. And he is thankful he doesn't. Because _she needs him_; not thinking of her would feel like betrayal.

"Daddy—" Em's voice is heavy with sleep, and he hates himself. It's dark outside and way past her bedtime.

"Yes, baby?"

"Can I see mommy now?"

He can barely make out her words; she slurs them in the fabric of his shirt, small arms sliding down from around his neck to clutch his sleeves.

"Tomorrow, baby. Now you're going home with Auntie Abby," his voice is firm, but tender, and he rubs her back, a lullaby in its own way.

"No."

He smiles, because he was expecting that.

"I stay with you," Emory shifts in his hold, pushing him away a little so that she can look him in the eye. Tired as she is, _exhausted,_ she looks determined, lips pursed in a pout.

"You need to go to bed, Em."

"I want to see her, Daddy," she mumbles, a tiny frown crunching her brow, right before she starts crying, quietly, because she is _his strong girl._

"Not now baby," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You gotta be brave, little one."

There are no more words of protest as Abby takes Emory from his arms, and Gibbs is left alone in the waiting room. _We all need to be brave._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Here's to a less angst-y chapter, at least the beginning of it! I'm heading back to college next week, so I might not be posting as frequently as I'd like. Enjoy reading!

* * *

_It was a starless night in late August: ocean waves hit the shore, restless, creating a staccato tune in celebration of the contact, water and sand. Gibbs nudged her shoulder, playfully, and leaned over to say something. He had to, if he wanted to be heard over nature's symphony._

_ "You, me, skinny-dipping, what do you say?" It was like he was asking her out to dinner, casually, but she didn't miss the husky texture of his voice. She shivered._

_"You're not serious," Kate shook her head and bit back a smile. Darkness had fallen but she could still see the glint in his eye – the front porch light was on – and she knew then; he meant it._

_"I kid you not, Agent Todd. Trust me, you don't want it to become an order."_

_It was her turn to pinch his elbow, a little too hard, and roll her eyes in faux indignation. "Not my boss anymore, Gibbs," she simply stated, and laid her head on his shoulder._

_"Kate," he called out, a little too loudly and she pulled away to look him in the eye._

_"Gibbs." A staring match ensued and she pursed her lips, unwilling to give in. _

_Seconds later. "Fiine," she drawled an agreement and got up, casting a glance down at him before turning to contemplate the coldness of the ocean's waters. If he thought she'd admitted defeat, he thought wrong._

_ "But you need to catch me first," she exclaimed right before she ran down to the shore and started in a sprint along the coastline, cool water splashing up her bare legs._

_Immediately, Gibbs followed suit, her laughter getting louder and louder as he closed in on her. Kate was fast, but he was faster._

_"Let me go," she giggled, caught in his arms at last._

_"No."_

_"Gibbs!" _

_"Kate?"_

_"Stawwwp," she was laughing now, trying to escape him; she never liked it when he tickled her (she pretended not to like it when he tickled her)._

_"Okay," he murmured a truce, arms loosening the hold around her. She leaned into his touch, her back pressed against his chest, and let out a content sigh. _

_"You know, I might want my T-shirt back."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yeah." His response was a whisper, pressed onto the skin of her neck. He marked a path down the side of it, warm lips teasing her, before he rested his chin on her shoulder. Slowly, his arms slid down to fidget with the hem of her shirt – _his shirt_ – and then under the fabric, his thumbs painting circles of different sizes on her abdomen. _

_"You're starting to show, baby," Gibbs murmured, and pressed a kiss on her shoulder. She smiled to herself and swiftly turned around to face him, pulling him closer and leaving her hands to rest on his lower back._

_ "You know I can't do this, Gibbs." Her voice was firm, determinate._

_"Do what?" Gibbs appeared to be struck with confusion. _

_"Skinny-dipping," she smirked and he kissed the corner of her mouth._

_"Please, Kate?" He was adorable. DiNozzo would gag if he heard her thoughts._

_"Nope," she shook her head, standing her ground._

_"But why?"_

_She looked around, searching for an escape route. There wasn't any. "It's dark, Gibbs and I - I have a fear of whales."_

_He started laughing and she never heard the end of it. His teasing was ridiculous._

* * *

Even now, an anomaly of a smile escapes him. He opens his eyes and is not surprised at the sight of the man sitting next to him.

"Dreaming, Jethro?"

"Remembering, Duck," Gibbs whispers and leans back in his seat, hands cradling the back of his head. _God, _the wait is killing him and he can't believe his word choice. It's been more than six hours – something must have gone wrong. There goes his self-control, down the drain, and molds into a struggle for air.

As if having read his thoughts, Ducky is quick to counter his reasoning, "It is quite ordinary, Jethro – a surgery can take eight to ten hours, sometimes even more."

_Ordinary._ Nothing is ordinary about the situation and anger glints in Gibbs' eyes as he meets the doctor's soothing blues. But he knows Ducky means well and he doesn't say anything.

"Go home, Jethro. I'll call you as soon as there's any news," his friend offers with a crooked smile, a fruitless effort. Gibbs appreciates it, he does, but he _can't leave her._

"You know I can't, Duck," his voice is small, against the vastness of his anxiety, and he closes his eyes shut, to reduce the hospital's grandeur, at least, to the backside of his eyelids.

"Did Abby take Miss Emory home?" Another attempt to distract him, to get his attention, _for a little while. _

"She did. She was so tired, Ducky, I can't believe I didn't see it –"

"I'm sure she is well-rested now."

Despite himself, Gibbs chuckles, "Probably not. Last Saturday, Em got up at 6am - was really proud of it, actually. Kate and I, we –"He takes a deep breath, eyes cast down as the memory fades. It couldn't have been just last week that – _everything was okay._

He grips the edge of his seat, a tiny motion that is more intelligible than his stone expression. "I can't lose her, Duck" Gibbs whispers, eyes set on the door at the end of the corridor, as if to summon any bearer of news. But his mind's desire is no subpoena.

_You won't lose her, Jethro. _No, Ducky can't say that. It's cruel, but what is crueler is finding his words to be wrong, and he would do anything but give false reassurance, especially to Gibbs.

"Let's hope we don't," he breathes, just as quietly, but they can hear each other in the hollow silence of the waiting room.

* * *

He thought he'd feel relief. But seeing the confident stride of the surgeon, approaching them, is nerve-wrecking, to say the least. It's the definitiveness of it all that scares him; the fact that nothing he says or does from now on could alter the outcome. _Helplessness_, and he's not used to it. But while his mind goes into overdrive, his muscles do the work and he is standing up to meet the redhead.

"Mister Gibbs?"

"_Agent_ Gibbs," he corrects, his nose scrunching in regret. It's an instinct, and Kate would be rolling her eyes right about now. _Kate._

"Agent Todd's surgery went well. Thankfully, there were no fragments, but the bullet had gone through the liver. It was a through and through – however, there was significant blood loss and the next 24 hours are critical –"

Suddenly, he knows how to breathe. But he still doesn't know how to ask the questions, swiveling around his thoughts.

"Fear of infection?" Ducky asks, wanting to cover the basics.

"It could happen, yes," the surgeon nods, before adding, "But I'm hopeful, Agent Gibbs. Agent Todd is a strong woman."

"Can I see her now?" Gibbs finally speaks up, having regained control. _She is fine, she will be fine. _He'll tell her personally to get her shit together, right now._ If only she'd listen._

"She's in the ICU, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait two more hours, sir."

* * *

He is sitting by her side, holding her hand. Gibbs doesn't care what the doctors say about the central IV; _he _is her lifeline and if that sounds arrogant, that's because it is. Through calm eyes he examines her face, and she seems _peaceful_, for all the pain she must have been in. He holds her hand a little tighter now. _I'm here_, so to say. _God, _he wishes she'd say something back, pick up on this tactile dialogue. She doesn't.

"Come on, Katie. Wake up."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **This chapter is a bit different, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Hope you enjoy reading & reviews are wonderful :))

* * *

Visiting hours are a nightmare. Doctors can't check up on their patients without getting a dozen questions from worried relatives. Nurses don't have it easy either – try saying, _down the hall, second door on the right, then take the elevator and look for room X, _without having a mental breakdown and/or forgetting your own name midday. At least patients are getting their slice of comfort. But when your room gets turned into a flower shop and Aunt Lucile keeps asking if you're okay when you're not okay but you can't say that, then you might become intolerant to visits as well.

* * *

"How is she today, Rose?" Gibbs asks, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile, yet it's actually a full-on grin, by his standards. He knows that she is doing better; he spent the night in the hospital, even though he wasn't allowed to. But with little help on the inside –

"Kate is doing better, Agent Gibbs. I see you came for a visit," Rose smiles at him, dimples grazing her cheeks. "She is in room 316, but she might be sleeping. Pain-meds and all –" The nurse needn't say more and Gibbs leads the way to the room, with Tony having to keep up with his fast-pace.

"We're not waking her up, if she's sleeping. Got it, DiNozzo?"

"Sure, boss. Might be better this way," Tony concedes. Last time he saw her, she was pretty angry with him.

The two of them walk in and Tony lets out a sigh of relief – Kate appears to be in deep slumber, her chest rising and falling in even intervals. Sunlight is creeping in and Gibbs draws the curtains closer, _anything to keep her resting. _Of course, he forgot about the Tony-factor, about his senior field agent who doesn't like to go unnoticed, especially when slippery doorknobs are concerned. _BANG._ The door closes shut, brown eyes snap open in an instant, a death glare rises on an angry man's face and – _oh shit._

"Sorry, boss," Tony murmurs, looking sideways at the former marine, whose face doesn't even flinch, yet two angry fists rest by his sides, gaining momentum –

"Tony!" Kate's excitement is obvious as she pushes herself up to a sitting position. "It's so lovely to see you."

Tony's jaw drops, especially after Gibbs pats his back and whispers an explanation. "Morphine, Tony. Otherwise, she'd be in great pain."

For a moment, DiNozzo is speechless; he looks through squinted eyes from Kate to Gibbs, from Gibbs to Kate, back and forth. Then –

"Wow, look at you, Agent Todd. Katie in the sky –" A head-slap cuts off his little sing-along, despite Kate's protest.

"But I love this song. Jethro, why do you have to be so cranky?" Kate pouts and Tony _has to _look down, as he is most certainly cracking up. Regardless of the consequences.

"Don't hit him, honey," Kate whispers softly, then suppresses a yawn. "You're so handsome, you know that, grouch-bear? Let me kiss that frown off your face. Come 'ere." Tony snorts, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. And is his boss blushing? _Outrageous._ DiNozzo is calling it quits if Gibbs calls her pumpkin pie, _that's it._

"Fine, you get a free pass, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbles and Kate smiles sweetly, before closing her eyes.

"You go now, pretty people. I'mma take a nap, k?" she slurs her words in the pillow, quickly drifting off to sleep.

* * *

She is a cartoon character – one of the old, 2D ones – skipping across fields of gold, candy-house looming in the distance, following that invisible scent of freshly baked goods –

And she is waking up.

"Abby?" Kate murmurs, still in the haze of sleep.

"Hi, Kate." The Goth has pulled a chair and is sitting by her side, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Did you bring something, Abs?" Kate looks around, the divine smell of croissant au chocolat still taunting her.

"I did, Kate," Abby sighs, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I made you snickerdoodle cookies," she explains, pointing to a dark, wicker basket, set on the corner table.

"You're not a baker, Abby," Kate giggles, but then meets her friend's gloomy gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure they're wonderful." She sniffs the air, before adding, "A little burnt perhaps."

"You can't eat them anyway, now, right?" Abby smiles at last. Then swiftly changes the topic. "They have you on painkillers, huh?"

"Mhmmm. So lovely –" Kate all but hums the words, taking Abby's hand in her own. "Lemme take care of the baking from now on, Abs. I'm such a great baker, y'know."

"I know, Kate."

* * *

The creak of a door pushed open, hushed voices disrupting the silence. _Go in, little one. _Tiny feet tracing a path across hospital tiles, fingers tugging at blankets and a 4-yeard old, hoisting herself up onto her mom's bed.

Kate opens one eye lazily, and smiles. "Hi, baby."

Emory scoots closer and lays her head on Kate's shoulder. Kate notices the rag doll she is holding and the change in her appearance. "You cut her hair, Em?" she whispers in dark curls, arm tightening around the little girl's shoulder.

"Yep."

For a while, the room is silent but for the regular drippings into Kate's IV line.

"Mommy?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Em shifts a little to look up at Kate. "I don't wanna see my friends anymore," she admits reluctantly, a frown crunching her brow. Kate is perplexed, but her daughter, the adult that she is, reasons, "If I stay home, you don't have to stay here, or go to work –" She sighs, content with her decision, and lets her head drop on Kate's chest. "I can take care of you," Em murmurs, tugging at her hospital gown.

At a loss for words, Kate kisses the top of Emory's head. "You'll take care of me?"

"Mm," tired eyes close shut and Em relaxes in her mother's hold.

"Sounds about right, baby," Kate whispers before drifting off to sleep once again.

* * *

"You sure she won't mind, boss?" McGee looks through the blinds into Kate's room and then back at Gibbs, whose irritation has started to show – his right eye is twitching and his nostrils are flaring, _Tim is certain._

"Do you need a special invitation, or what, McGee!" It's not a question, and despite his lowered voice, Gibbs seems to be heard across the hall.

"Right, boss. Sorry," he mumbles and walks in, before Gibbs can put an emphasis on his words and grant him a head slap.

Unlike Tony, he takes his time closing the door, quiet as a mouse. He almost drops the flowers he is holding, when Kate's voice calls out to him.

"Was grouch bear rude to you, Tim? I heard y'all talking outside."

McGee turns around, his mouth taking on different shapes, as he tries to form words, but no sound comes out. His forehead wrinkles in concentration and Kate giggles.

"Relax, McGee. Come 'ere now, pull up a chair."

In Gibbs' absence, McGee follows her orders, and sits down, still holding her flowers (obviously having forgotten about them).

"Uh, how are you, Kate?" he asks, straightening up a little and pushing his discomfort away.

She ignores his question, eyes set on the orchids. "You bought me flowers, Tim? That is so _sweet. _Orchids are my favorite. Are they your favorite, too?"

"Uh – maybe, I don't know."

"You don't know? McGee!" Kate chuckles, before concern crinkles her brow_. _"You need to put them in water, Tim. Go, get them some water."

Tim knows better than to question her instructions and leaves the room. He even finds himself feeling relieved. He is not used to Kate rambling. _At all._

* * *

"I see she is taking a nap now. This is certainly good for her and would immensely help her recovery. How many milligrams of morphine are you pushing in? Once, during my residency in Scotland, I had a patient who was in great pain – two gunshot wounds to the abdomen, one to the right leg –"

"Ducky," Kate whispers, eyes still closed, but she is sure he is the one sitting by her bedside.

"Caitlin, you can go back to sleep, my dear. I just wanted to come see you –" At this time, the nurse exits the room, without hearing the rest of Ducky's story. But perhaps he wasn't talking to her at all –

"It's alright," she mumbles, brown eyes blowing wide open, as if to punctuate the point that she _is _awake, _really._

"As I was saying, I was in Edinburgh – marvelous city, by the way. Have you been there, Caitlin? You should definitely go when you get back on your feet. I'm certain that you'll be feeling well in no time. Even Jethro might enjoy the trip. The landscape is remarkable, to tell you the truth, but the weather can give you a bit of trouble – so windy, and there's a lot of rain, as you can guess, my dear –"

"Ducky, you talk a lot, you know that?" Kate tilts her head to the side, obviously not paying attention to what he's saying. "You start here," Kate points to an invisible point in the air, "—and then you jump over there and –" She sighs. "I get confused, Ducky."

The doctor looks startled, but quickly snaps out of it.

"You're right, Caitlin. Do accept my apologies. How are you feeling?"

"Mmm alright."

"I'm glad to hear that, my dear. Laparotomy was evidently the right approach in your case. Of course, if Dr. Jones had chosen to perform a laparoscopy, the surgery would have been less invasive, yet this would have limited —"

* * *

When visiting hours are over, silence engulfs hospital hallways. Only those with special privileges – doctors, nurses, NCIS team leaders – get to sneak into rooms, where darkness, too, has started to fall. Where morphine is wearing off and the doctor is due to come back in the next hour or so, to hopefully prescribe another dose of analgesics. That's a long time when you're in pain.

"I want to go home, Gibbs," a woman whispers, facing away from her husband, who slips off his shoes and lies down next to her, the only comfort he can offer.


	5. Chapter 5

_"—and they lived happily ever after." _

_Kate closed the book. It was a fairy tale, already worn at the edges, but it was no Brothers Grimm; no way was she reading a story about an evil queen hunting down her stepdaughter with the intention of killing her and then eating her heart, only because she was prettier, thank you very much. Kate turned to look at the toddler, half-expecting to find her asleep, but only met Em's blue eyes, wide open. The girl looked curious, troubled even, as if a question was on the tip of her tongue, rearranging its letters before proceeding to enter the world._

_Emory had mastered Gibbs' infamous stare, Kate noted. Her daughter oozed skepticism, and although she now had her eyes squinted, disbelief was still intelligible. Yet the room was silent, except for the lasting echo of five words, giving hope as intangible as that book on the highest shelf, which you would never reach._

_Kate left the book on the nightstand and kissed the top of Emory's head. She was about to get up and tuck her in, when a sleepy voice merely stated,_

_"They lie."_

_"What is it, sweetheart?"_

_"Is it bad to lie, isn't it, mommy?"_

_Kate shifted a little, her back pressed against the wooden bedframe. "Who is lying, baby?"_

_"The people in the story," Emory mumbled, and if she didn't know any better, Kate would deem her daughter's sigh a sign of impatience. _

_Em wriggled out of Kate's hold and pushed the covers away. She then scooted closer again, and sat on Kate's lap, facing her._

_"Bad things happen, mommy," Emory said in a sing-song voice, as if Kate was the four-year old, who needed an explanation. _

_"That's true, Em," she whispered, taking hold of her hands, and looked down as to hide the fleeting emotion that crossed her features. Fear? Sadness? She had none of it, _alright. _With surprising confidence, Kate reasoned, "But you don't have to worry, baby. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or -" _Us.

_"Kate?" Gibbs' voice startled her; she hadn't seen him standing in the doorway (typical Gibbs, sneaking up on them). _

_"We're done with the story for tonight, right, Em?" Kate pulled her daughter closer and kissed her cheek. She then tucked her in bed, but a tiny arm tugging at her sleeve wouldn't let her leave just yet._

_"Leave the light, mommy. Can't see when it's dark. Please," Emory slurred the words, her eyes closing. _

_"Always, baby." _

_She was at the doorway, when Emory whispered, "Bad thing happened to you, mommy." _

The hallway light now seeps through the crack under the door. After some time the eyes adjust and even this minimal light source feels illuminating: shadows take form, paintings emerge on the walls, and the arm wrapped around your waist is an arm, not an unidentified object, weight that scares you when you wake from a nightmare. But it's not about the nightmares. She just can't fall asleep.

Insomnia, noun. Difficulty in falling or staying asleep. Her name would be written under insomniac, _in bold_. Kate disentangles herself from his arms, and is pretty sure it is _shut it, DiNozzo_ that Gibbs grumbles in his sleep.

Lying flat on her back, she tries once more. _Take a deep breath in, let it out slowly. Deep breath in, out slowly. Breath in, out. In, out, in, out –_

It's not working, _damn it. _She rolls onto her stomach, and opens her eyes to look at Gibbs. Even in sleep, a pencil sketch of a frown creases his forehead, yet he doesn't so much as flinch. It has always seemed wondrous to Kate how he would get his rest under any circumstances – on a turbulent air plane ride, on a hard Autopsy table, under his boat…

When it comes to Kate, it doesn't matter how tired she is, or how little sleep she'd gotten the night before. Her thoughts leave her restless, nonetheless, and the more she tries to quiet them, the snarkier their attack becomes. She has no other option but to surrender to sleeplessness, embrace its shadow fully and get up.

Dawn is splashing its colors and light grazes the curtains' edges when Gibbs stirs awake. It happens in an instant: eyes flash open, hands run over a vacant spot and absence is registered. The special agent side of him notes that the fabric is cold and estimates TSD (time since departure) to be more than 2 hours. The husband side of him is struggling to keep up with his frenzied heartbeat. He props himself up on his elbows, eyes scanning the room, sweeping over furniture and under chairs, as if Kate would be there, when obviously she is not in the room. Gibbs is sitting up now, cradling his head in his hands. Eyes snap shut.

_After a week's stay in the hospital, Kate was finally being released. She had made full recovery, the doctor said; the only visible sign of her surgery was the scar left by the midline incision. Once they both had thanked Rose for her help and cooperation – Gibbs admired the woman's determination to go against the rules, when necessary, a crucial quality in any NCIS agent – the two of them exited the ground floor in silence. _

_It was a longer ride home, the longest ride home for that matter. Despite himself, Gibbs was following the speed limit, taking his time at intersections and keeping the road rage down to a minimum. By his side, Kate was especially quiet, immersed in frames of green and suburban housing, fleeting sketches of life outside her window. _

_At a set of traffic lights, the images froze to a stop. A hand came over her own and Kate turned to look at Gibbs, his expression as incomprehensible as ever. _

_"How are you, Kate?" he asked, fingertips tracing circles on the back of her hand. _

_"I am fine, Gibbs. You heard Doctor Jones, I made full recovery," she murmured, but there was something mechanical in her response, a reiteration of cold facts. Gibbs had to call her out on that._

_"I remember her saying that. How are you feeling, Katie?" _

_It was the small things that broke her composure, the note of tenderness in his voice, the sound of her name, endeared, that got to her. A couple of years ago she would have laughed off the thought of talking feelings with Gibbs. Now, she brushed it off for a different reason. She wanted to be okay and talking about how much she was not okay was hardly going to help. _

_"Fine, Gibbs," she sighed, gripping the handle on the inside of her door, subconsciously expecting him to speed up or swerve in the opposite direction just to prove a point._

_He did not say anything else and they finished the ride in silence._

He finds her in the kitchen, seated on a barstool chair by the island counter. An NIS mug is placed before her, coffee long gone, yet her fingers run over the handle, trembling. She is not aware of his presence, not yet anyway, and for a moment, he watches her from a distance. Kate seems tinier, her frame lost in an oversized T-shirt that could have been her own once.

"Katie," he murmurs, a sigh only meant for him to hear, but she turns around to face him; caffeine has obviously sharpened her senses.

"Couldn't sleep," she explains, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

"It's still early, Kate. Come back to bed."

Gibbs is standing next to her now and she can feel warm fingertips wrap around her forearm, silently urging her on to follow his lead. Go back to bed. She doesn't want to.

"I _can't _sleep, Gibbs," she repeats, mentally pleading him to leave her alone. Because if he doesn't she might just break the armor of _fine_ that encases her.

"Kate," he calls out, firmer than before, hoping that somehow he would get to her, past the distance that she is so stubbornly putting between them.

"What's wrong?" he asks as his hand slides down her arm.

"_Nothing," _she breathes, standing up and pulling away from him, but before she can slip past him, his words get her attention.

"You were shot, Kate," Gibbs' voice is calm, devoid of emotion, and he doesn't wait long to build up on that. "You say nothing's wrong, I say you are lying to yourself."

He has rendered her speechless. In any other case, Kate would pinch herself but there is no way she is dreaming; this requires being asleep.

"You could have died, Kate. You were in surgery for ten hours straight, you could have died on the table, right then and there," he murmurs, a stony expression covering for his emotions.

"Stop it, Gibbs," she whispers, looking up at him, and he can see it in her eyes; his every word cuts like a knife, piling hurt over exhaustion, but he doesn't listen to her.

"You could have never woken up from surgery."

"Don't say that," she calls out, fists clenched by her side, her breathing getting rapid.

"Em was asking for you. She wanted to see you when you were in the ICU, but they wouldn't let her. When you didn't wake up for some time after the surgery –" Gibbs trails off, a cruel way to build up the suspense, "—I thought, _perhaps I should plead harder with the nurse. This could be the last time –"_

He doesn't pull back after the first blow to his abdomen, nor does he move out of her way when tight fists encounter his chest, time and again. Until her hands are trembling, and she grasps the front of his shirt, still enraged but needing something to ground her. Gently, he takes hold of her wrists, pushing them down to her sides before he wraps his arms around her. He pulls her close, and she doesn't fight back the tears.

_Bastard. _

* * *

**AN:** Because I needed a "Yankee White" moment. Hope you enjoyed reading :))


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** In my mind, updating once a week seemed possible, but it turns out to be a bit ambitious. I will do my best to post updates every week, but it might not always work out. Enjoy reading!

* * *

When she wakes, Gibbs is not lying next to her – perhaps he is taking a shower, or he has finally decided to go to work today – and in the time it takes her to push off the covers and sit at the bedside, a guilty thought escapes before she can filter it. _Good, he's gone. _She glances at the nightstand clock and it's barely 9 in the morning; surprisingly, she has slept for a few hours, though neither her body, nor her mind feels well-rested. Kate stumbles to the bathroom. If anything, water acts as a refresh button – the pain might not disappear, but at least her thoughts would get sharper.

* * *

Holding a child and two cups of coffee is ambitious, if not plain stupid. _See, _Gibbs would have gone solo, had it not been for the quiet call that had sounded down the hallway from their bedroom. He'd gone into Emory's room, only to find her perusing picture books and singing baby hymns. After that, it had been a rush to their favorite coffee place. The barista looked dumbstruck, when he ordered food to go with their drinks – plain bagels and _can I have chocolate cro-i-ssant, please, daddy?_ How could you say no to that, when each syllable was carefully pronounced, just like Kate had taught their daughter. _It's French, baby, but you don't have to roll the 'r's. Just say it like this._ On the way back, Gibbs realized that a 4-year old could not possibly keep up with his pace, so he lifted Em in his arms, giving her the simple task of holding the bag with their breakfast. _I am helping you, daddy? – Of course you are, sweetheart._

Back in the house, Gibbs is sure to keep it down, for now at least, in case Kate is still sleeping. He cautiously closes the front door – _You're a ninja, daddy, _Emory had once said – and lets the little girl down, who doesn't need a reminder to stay quiet. She tiptoes to the kitchen and climbs into her chair, after a few trial-and-errors. Gibbs follows her, smiling, because he can't help it; it reminds him of another little girl who once needed her daddy's help to sit in her own high chair.

"You hungry, Em?" he asks, pressing his palms to the island counter and lowering himself, perhaps to face his companion on equal terms.

"Mhmmm," a vigorous nod and dark locks stir in affirmation.

Gibbs sets a plate on the table with the toddler's favorite _croissant au chocolate, _but before he can make a move and take out a juice box, Emory is wriggling out of her seat and skipping to the cupboard. She has to reach for it, _naturally,_ yet she is back in her chair in no time. Initiative, Gibbs can give her that.

"You gonna be okay, little one? I'll go see if mommy is awake."

"Mmm," Emory hums, mostly to herself, thoroughly enjoying her _petit dejeuner_ and not paying attention to his remarks. Gibbs shakes his head, and a fleeting grin creeps out before he leaves the kitchen. Making kids happy seems effortless; it's just that nothing extraordinary is required.

* * *

Stepping out of the shower, Kate feels better. But it is the kind of _better _that comes with its own instruction manual: the alleviating effect lasts for a couple of hours, and then the former fatigue settles over the subject once again, the inevitable aftermath of little sleep and unregulated caffeine intake.

With her hair dripping, she walks to the bedroom, where her partner awaits, carton cup in hand, _oh sweet temptation, here we go again. _

"Morning, Gibbs," she murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest, to ensure that her towel stays in place. Though it might look like taking a defensive stance, to an outsider.

"Kate," Gibbs gives her a curt nod. The silence that follows is not the awkward silence of strangers, having met over dinner and trying to come up with something, _anything _to say. It is deliberate silence, strategic even. It's the silence of chess players, pondering their next move and weighing down the pros and cons of sacrificing their queen, but hey, if this helps in the long run –

"Gibbs," Kate sighs, preparing herself for the words that are soon to follow, more so bracing herself for his reaction. "I think – I think you need to go back to work. I know you have spoken to Jenny, but _the team_ needs you. Besides, if you stay home long enough, DiNozzo might take your job," Kate's voice grows softer and one corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile.

"Kate –"

Before he can form words of protest, Kate continues, "I'm fine, Gibbs. You got to trust me on this one, baby," she trails off, but holds his gaze, meeting resistance in his calm stare, or at least that's what she thinks it is. She can never be sure.

"You know I trust you, Katie, but you are not fine," Gibbs' tone washes over her like cough syrup, sweet then sour, _bitter._

Acting on impulse, she closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his. It's a ghost of a kiss; still, she can't help but wrap her arms around him, palms spread wide against his back. "Prove it," Kate whispers, taking advantage of them former marines, always up to the challenge.

Gibbs breaks the contact, stepping out of her hold, and she panics. If that's his way of hanging up in person and walking away, she takes it back, takes it all back. Then –

"Emory stays with you, okay, and if there's anything –"

"Gibbs, nothing will –"

"If there's anything –"

"—alright, fine, I'll call you, okay?"

"You better do that," Gibbs rumbles, stepping into his grumpy boots, but kisses her cheek, nonetheless.

"Love you too, Gibbs," Kate whispers, though she is pretty sure he can hear her from the doorway.

_Checkmate. _

* * *

"Mr. Palmer, what took you so long? Was Abigail entertaining you down in the garage? Oh, pardon me, this didn't come out the proper way –" He'd sent Jimmy on an errand a while ago and yet, still no trace of his assistant –

"It's me, Duck," Gibbs announces his presence and walks to where Ducky is standing, in the far end of the autopsy room. The ME seems to be prodding a petri dish with one of his instruments, but when Gibbs approaches him, he turns around swiftly and pulls him in for a hug.

"Good to see you, Jethro."

"You too, Ducky," Gibbs reciprocates the doctor's smile, finally letting himself relax, if just for a little while. "I see you are working on a case," he adds before Ducky can ask his share of questions. He already had to deal with Tony and McGee and reassure them of Kate's well-being; a transient break away from that would be nice, _kind of._

"Petty officer Jeanie Clark, found dead in her apartment this morning. No apparent cause of death. I was just about to send Abigail a tissue sample to run some tests, but Mr. Palmer –"

"Sorry, doctor," Jimmy rushes in, cheeks crimson red as a result of the obvious effort to concur distance in minimum time. "This goes up to Abby, right?" he points to the little glass vial Ducky is now holding.

"What do you think, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky squints his eyes, and Gibbs can barely stifle a grunt of amusement. Typically good-willed and patient, the ME now appears to be – _irritated._

"I'm so s-sorry, Dr. Mallard. Going right away -" Jimmy stutters, sticking his hand out, until Ducky, albeit reluctantly, places the container in his open palm.

After he is gone, Ducky lets out a low chuckle, "Oh, Jethro. Is it bad that I took pleasure in torturing him like this?"

"No, Duck. I do it all the time; works like magic," Gibbs grins. "Look at DiNozzo; I somehow made a man out of him."

"That's right. Tony seems to be doing particularly well these days. You know, Jethro, he has been a good team leader in your absence," Ducky muses, struck by the thought himself. One has to admit, Tony _does _have some positive attributes when he is not behaving like a preschooler. The doctor then asks cautiously, voicing his concern at last, "How is Caitlin doing? Feeling better, I hope. Any pain?"

"Not that I know of, Duck," Gibbs sighs, defeated _and_ frustrated, all at the same time. Yet, he is honest in his response, as honest as he can be. Because he might fool DiNozzo, and scare McGee away with a gruff look and/or a head slap, but he can't lie to Ducky. "She is not talking to me, and I wish she was."

The ME looks down, weighing down his response. And finally –

"Give it time, Jethro. Don't force her to talk, if she doesn't want to," he sighs, reminiscent of their own history, and of everything Gibbs had kept to himself. "Traumatic events are difficult to comprehend and it takes time for emotion to settle down. If she is withdrawn, distant – angry even – it is only natural –"

Thinking back on last night, a sense of guilt settles in Gibbs' chest, but he bottles down the feeling.

"I guess you're right, Duck. I wish I wasn't so helpless," Gibbs murmurs, leaning against an adjacent autopsy table.

"Patience, my dear Jethro. Everything will turn out just fine in the end," Ducky gives him a crooked smile, placing a hand on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Thanks, Ducky."

* * *

She stirs awake in a cold sweat. In the late afternoon light, shadows dominate the living room; no matter what direction she looks in, dark figures loom in the corner, _oh God. _She pulls her knees to her chest, shrinking herself to a panicking mess of a person, each breath impossible to catch. The extra pressure against her ribcage was supposed to slow down her heartbeat, _right, right?_

Clutching the fabric of her blanket, she tries to take a deep breath, but her inhales are superficial and she is drowning, _drowning, _in her own fear and –

_They are back in the warehouse. Stacked cardboard boxes block her view; it's a human-made maze, and they are playing cops and robbers, for real. She is not supposed to be here. _

_Not supposed to be here._

_Because she knows what is about to happen. _

_She doesn't hear him, but she sees the barrel of a handgun, pointed at her. She is his target, and at this point, it's a game of speed. _

_The bullet strikes her in the abdomen, the moment she dives down, hitting the concrete. Next thing she knows, the unsub is dead, hit in the chest by a high velocity bullet, lethal in its precision. A familiar voice calls 911 and a hand encloses hers. _

She wants this to stop, _now, now, now – _

Somewhere voices are blaring and frantic eyes look around the room. The TV is on. _Oh God. _She was watching a movie and she must have fallen asleep; awaken by the sound of gunshots. _Crime dramas. _

It doesn't make it less real. The pain, the flashbacks, the physical impact of breathing too much, and not enough –

She can't do this, _no. _

He is not picking up, and she is _not panicking, no, _and after three rings, the call goes to voicemail.

_Gibbs – hi. Uh, call me, okay? Don't worry – I mean, uh. Just wanted to hear your voice. I'm – I'll be okay – call me? _


	7. Chapter 7

_Kate? Kate?_ _McGee! Why isn't she answering, McGee? The call has probably gone to voicemail, boss. Didn't you hear the 'Please leave your message after the signal', boss? Ouch, what was that for? Acting smart, DiNozzo. Kate? I just heard your message. I'm on my way home, okay? I will see you soon, baby. I'm –_

Sorry. His voice trails off at the end, but Kate would never have his apology on record anyway, damn elevator and lack of reception. A fisted hand slams against metal; still, red digits flash, continuing their countdown despite being rattled by violence. _Ground floor. Parking lot. Inside the car._

* * *

_After leaving him a voicemail, Kate waited. Set the phone aside, turned on the lights. Waited. It was going to be alright. He was going to call her. It was going to be alright. Right?_

_When he didn't call her, she scavenged the entire first floor for a sketchbook and pencils. Down on the carpeted floor, Kate sat cross-legged with her back steadied against the furnished frame of the couch; she just needed the support, _any support, _be it of wood and not of human contact._ _Haunted eyes devoured the surroundings, half-expecting to find monsters, see them emerge from behind a potted plant, the one in the corner. _

_Monsters hid everywhere these days: in unlit spaces, behind doors, – opened just a crack – in her thoughts – _

_A pencil slithered between her trembling fingers. Kate took a deep breath in, tightening the grip around it, but when was that ever helpful? Breathing? _

_Rough lines started flowing out of her hand, out of her hand's extension, sharp and unforgiving. It was as if she was coughing her pain out, on paper: each stroke was coarse, and strenuous, but woven together they created an outline of a face._ _She was drawing from memory. Anything to take her mind off this. _

_For a while, her hand stood suspended midair, as she mentally rationed the face, her heart thumping hard in her chest, scolding her, _faster, faster. _Under her tight hold of the pencil, the eyes emerged, dark pupils centered on soft gray, with just the tiniest glint in the corner, and even that was a trick of color – of white standing out against various shades of black and gray. How else would you breathe life into a two-dimensional sketch?_

_With every new feature, she was gaining back her composure, little by little. After drawing the nose, long, with just the slightest bump at the bridge, her shoulders relaxed, the tension dwindled. She was so focused on the mouth, on making it _right_, Kate didn't realize her breathing had slowed down. In time, the lines grew softer, sleepier. She was doing the shading, leaving it to graphite to pump a third dimension into her sketch. Highlight the area above the eye and you have an eye socket, illusory in its depth. Never outline the mouth; this would make it flat. Instead, darken the corners and fill in the shape of the mouth, but go lighter toward the center._

_She had found a tentative coping mechanism – art as therapy – and no wonder she was feeling lighter now, the finished sketch holding all her panic captive. Lost in thought, she didn't hear the shuffling of feet, nor the quiet sob, coming from the doorway. _

_"Mommy?" Emory called out, and when Kate didn't respond, she all but ran to her mother, wrapping tiny arms around Kate's neck and snuggling close to her. _

_"Em? What is it, baby? Why are you crying, sweetheart?" Kate's voice croaked, unfit to comfort anyone but her daughter, who tightened the grip around her neck, pulling at hair and skin alike. Kate didn't care. She rubbed Em's back, whispering soothing words in her ear._

_ "Did you have a nightmare, baby?" she asked, biting her lip. _

_"No, no bad dream, s'just I forgot. I forgot, mommy!" Emory cried, burying her face in Kate's shoulder._

_This could have been a sigh of relief that escaped, but Kate was still curious, "What's wrong, sweetheart? What did you forget?"_

_For some time there was the sound of rapid, superficial breathing, with a sob thrown in the mix every once in a while. But Kate's soothing touch was able to content Em, until she was just sniffling. _

_"Cookies. I forgot about the cookies, mommy," she whispered and as any skilled parent would, Kate noticed the way her voice wobbled at the end, a sure harbinger for more tears._

_"You had a dream about cookies?" Kate chuckled, yet tried to calm down. Kids don't like it when they are not taken seriously. "We can make cookies, if you want," she suggested, smoothing down Em's hair, from the crown of her head to the ends. _

_"No, no dream. I forgot about the cookies. Tomorrow –" she trailed off, as if to gather some strength before continuing. Could have also been she was gathering her still sleepy thoughts. "We're selling cookies at school tomorrow. I don't have cookies!" Another sob and a 4-year old would have cried herself to sleep, had it not been for her reasonable mother._

_"Is there a bake sale tomorrow, Em? How many cookies do you need to bring?"_

_"Um, Ms. Stevens said, um –" she pulled back a little, and Kate noticed the way her nose scrunched in confusion, or rather, thought._

_"A dozen? Two dozen?" _

_"Uh-hundred!" Em announced at last, proud of herself for recalling the actual number._

_Kate didn't have the heart to scold her for telling her this late. They could have a _talk_ later, but right now, right now they needed to get to work._

_"Okay then. Get up, little one. We have no time to waste."_

* * *

He lingers at the door, just a moment's time, before going in. It is dark but for the light at the end of the hallway, coming from the kitchen.

"Kate?" Gibbs calls out, steps away from the threshold, the impending line that upon crossing, will bring answers to his questions. _Is she mad at him? Is she okay? Is she mad at him? Madder than he is at himself?_

"Quiet, Gibbs," Kate murmurs, tiptoeing to where he is standing, a dark shadow bound by the doorframe.

"What's going on?" he asks, but his gaze falls on a sleeping Emory and the image, well, it manages to conjure up a smile, _okay. _She has tucked her knees to her chest, a tiny, breathing ball, taking another nap on the beanbag chair in the corner. They had argued about it, the beanbag. Why would they need one, a lime green one in their kitchen? _T__his. _

"Didn't want to move her," Kate admits, smiling to herself. "She really helped me tonight."

Gibbs raises an eyebrow, the former guilt settling in, but when he looks Kate's way, the cookie sheets laid out on the island counter speak tons.

"Baking?"

"Mhmm," Kate hums, going back to work and to sorting cookies. At least now he knows where Em learned _that response _from. "Your daughter forgot to mention the school's having a bake sale tomorrow."

"A bake sale? How many?" Gibbs grins despite himself, going to help her out.

"A hundred," Kate answers, _amused_, now that they are done baking. Half an hour ago? Not so much.

"You tired? I can clean up, Kate," Gibbs suggests, punctuating his words by throwing away a crumpled ball of baking paper.

"That's alright, babe. I'm almost done," she half-smiles, placing the most recent cookies on a rack to cool down.

In the silence that follows, Gibbs picks up Emory and takes her upstairs. When he comes back down, the kitchen is perfectly clean, and for once, he is the one who can't read her.

"Kate, I'm –"

"Don't be –"

"We were at the marine base, I must have –"

"—it's alright, Gibbs. I know you must have been busy," she emphasizes the last point, and it comes out a little bitter; she did not intend _that. _She is not bitter - just tired.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, following Ducky's advice and not pressing any further.

"No," she sounds surprised; not by the response, but by the question itself. "Not now, Gibbs. I think I'm going to sleep," she murmurs, a yawn escaping her, as if to validate her answer.

He did not expect _this_, but it doesn't make it less real: in one moment, Kate has her arms wrapped around him, head resting on his chest, _just breathing _along with him. He doesn't question it, but steadies her, hand resting on her lower back.

She pulls away.

"You going to bed?"

"I'll be right up."

* * *

Before he goes upstairs, Gibbs passes through the living room, on the lookout for his glasses. Instead, he finds a sheet of paper on the couch, a rough sketch of himself.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews/follows, everyone! Hope you enjoyed reading :))


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Wow it's been a hectic last few weeks. Sorry for the long wait between updates! Hope it was worth it.

* * *

_She woke up in the middle of the night and no, it wasn't Gibbs' snoring that pulled her out of sleep (though the sound of it was piercing – a lawnmower on a Sunday morning, more or less). She could still smell gun powder on the sheets when her eyes shot open, when she figured the scream she'd heard was her own. A horrible déjà vu had played out on the backside of her eyelids – it was hard to imagine it had just been a dream, be it a nightmare, with its tiny little claws digging into Kate's shoulders, pinning her down to the mattress…_

_She did not sit up straight, shaking it all out. No. She had no spring to shoot her up to a sitting position, no strength to fight back the paralysis, the fear. Kate was a ragdoll, thrown in the deep end of the sea, with stones in her pocket, dragging her down, down, down. _

_Under the covers, she was drowning in fabric –_

_"Kate –"_

_His voice was heavy with sleep, yet still tinged with concern. Gibbs didn't wait for an answer. All at once, he pulled her on top of him, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing her back. There, he was keeping her afloat. _

_"You're safe here, Kate," he whispered and pulled her closer, to keep her body from shaking, to hold her together. She was overwhelmed by sound; his heartbeat, her heartbeat, Tony's scream for help, her scream, the blood pressure melting in her ears. _

_Kate couldn't move. Couldn't say anything. She gripped tightly at the edges of his shirt, nails accidentally digging into skin, but he didn't loosen his hold. As she drifted off to sleep, a refrain echoed in her mind. Safe, safe, safe._

* * *

"I'm hungry, Mommy," Emory mumbles lifting her gaze from her coloring book on the kitchen table.

"Me too, Kate," Abby chimes in, _distracted_, eyes set on her own Tim Burtonesque doodle.

Kate rolls her eyes, stirring the batter the other way, because she can be reckless sometimes and not follow the general baking rule, of stirring in one direction only.

"Unless you want to help me, you'll have to wait a little longer," she manages, trying to sound stern but she's not very successful at it. Em's lips have formed an 'O' and it is as if she is wordlessly dictating the motions of her hand, color filling the blank pages, and she is even staying _within_ the borders this time around. Kate can't scold her –

But Abby is a different story.

"Abs, mind giving me a hand over here?"

"Sure, Kate," Abby finishes the last shading touches on her picture and joins Kate by the counter, picking and eating a handful of blueberries, which were supposed to go into the mix.

Kate lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll be good, promise," Abby sounds determined, her pigtails, nodding an affirmation.

"I was counting on you, Abby," Kate shakes her head, not quite believing her, but a smile slips through.

"So what have you been up to, Kate? I haven't seen you since – I haven't seen you in a long time." That's not true. Last time she saw her, Kate was in the hospital in a morphine induced haze; and she was a much milder version of her current, a tad frustrated self. But even though it's been no more than two weeks, it seems longer – _oh, _cruel perceptions of time.

Kate's grateful for one – Abby is trying not to focus on the obvious, _the elephant in the room_, and that's good. Good in the sense it takes her mind off things, at least for a while.

"Reading. Drawing. Baking. Stuff I didn't have time to do before," she _almost_ chuckles at the notion, because truth is, she really _does _have more free time now. "Patterson's pretty good, I must admit, got me hooked on his series."

"Patterson? Geez, Kate, read the Brontës, Austen, _anyone._ The science in his books, so not accurate," Abby shakes her head and Kate finally relaxes a bit. "But at least you have time to read now. No pain, no gain," she announces, cheerful, slinging one arm, bend at the elbow, in front of her. Then the meaning of her words settles in.

"Wait. I'm sorry, Kate. That's something Tony would have said. Too soon," Abby's face scrunches, apologetic, and a frown gets propelled over her forehead.

Kate looks mildly shocked, her expression paler than usual, but for some reason, she laughs it off. "You're right. How's DiNozzo?"

"He's boss, Kate. You should have seen him when Gibbs took the week off. He was so –"

"Boss? What do you mean, Abs?" Gibbs sleepy head peers from behind the kitchen door. _Like always, _creeping up on people. It's an unwritten law: if you don't want to be overheard, Gibbs will hear you.

"I was just saying, he did a good job, Boss-man, uh –" Abby tries to backtrack, because even though Gibbs does not look very serious – is that a smirk? – you can never be certain with him. But then, he comes into full view, and Abby can't help it, "Gibbs! Your pants?"

"I'm wearing shorts, Abs," he rolls his eyes at her stunned expression, but meeting Kate's glare, makes him realize - he probably should have put on something more appropriate. But _wait, why would he?_

_What are you doing here, Abby? _he signs, out of habit, because with him, signs come faster to mind than words, _sometimes._

"Babysitting!" she exclaims, as if it's the most natural thing. "I thought you knew –" she turns a questioning look at Kate, who has been flipping over pancakes, and staying out of the no-pants debacle.

"Wanted to go for a run with you today," she explains simply, stacking two pancakes on a plate, and placing it before Emory.

Gibbs nods, but then Abby interjects, confident that she'll get away with it, "Why are you up so late, anyway, Gibbs?"

"My fault. Kept him up last night," Kate admits, and _oh God, _this did not come out the right way. She looks down, avoiding both their stares. For one, she can't handle the worry in his eyes, and two, she doesn't need to look up to know that Abby is grinning, _kinky,_ on her mind, though she hasn't voiced it yet.

"Mommy, you so good! You make the best pancakes," Emory calls out, her lips and the corners of her mouth tinted purple.

Kate smiles, a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Listen to Auntie Abby, Em, okay? Daddy and I are going out, baby."

* * *

She is out of shape and it's the worst feeling. Not because she is struggling to keep up with him, but because she's realized, it only takes ten days for a regular workout to feel like Sisyphean labor. For a moment, it feels like her head might explode from lack of oxygen, with each step adding a cruel _thump _to her pounding headache. They've been running in silence, the surroundings of the park in picturesque contrast to her fatigue. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate can see other people running alongside their dogs, toned legs making headway down a path. But she can't take it anymore.

Gradually, she slows down, until she comes to a stop and she bends over, her breath coming out all shallow and flaky. She would call out to him, but her voice catches in her throat.

"Kate?"

_Okay,_ she has underestimated Gibbs and his acute awareness of her presence, and the absence of it. Kate can feel him now by her side, can see his black sneakers through a strand of dark hair. She needs to get it together and finish the jog, just another mile left. A deep breath in and she stands up straight, the one fatal flaw in her logic. From the swift motion, everything goes black in front of her eyes, her body sways forward and –

_Damn, _it's a cliché, but he is there to catch her in his arms when she falls.

"I think I need a break, Kate, what do you say?" he murmurs and she can hear the smile in his voice. She pulls back to look at him, grateful, though unwilling to admit it. _Why put it in so many words? _She presses her lips to his shoulder.

"A break sounds about right."

They sit on a bench facing the park's lake, whose glassy surface reflects the surrounding trees. It's _pretty_ even from this angle, Kate realizes, her head resting on Gibbs' shoulder. The water has put him in a trance and just for a while she indulges in the stillness of the moment. Before they go back to running, before –

"Feeling any better?" he asks, nudging her side gently.

"Yeah," she sighs, a slow exhale of air that turns into a yawn halfway. "Much."

"You're tired, Kate. Let's go home."

"Just a little," she admits, scooting a bit closer and wrapping one arm behind his back. In the silence, she can almost hear the rumble of his thoughts. "Gibbs?" He doesn't say a word, but she knows he heard her. He is listening. "Thank you."

Kate pulls back a little to meet a glassy blue stare. He doesn't ask her why she is thanking him because he doesn't need to. He knows and she knows that he knows.

"And Gibbs? Please wear pants next time you see Abby."

_Well, _that's a grin. "You realize that next time I see her will be at work."

"Yeah, I know that. But still –" she chuckles, ignoring the lingering echo. _Work._

* * *

**AN: **I'm still trying to figure out where this story's going and I'm thankful to everyone who continues reading :)


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